


Five Times Henrik And John Fell Into Bed Together

by wallofglass



Category: Holby City
Genre: David and Rox will be in it later, I had to google Davids surname rip, M/M, Pre-Canon, cryptid squad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-05-30 14:58:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15099161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wallofglass/pseuds/wallofglass
Summary: John and Henrik’s relationship in five snapshots - multichaptered.





	1. The First Time: Because of Misunderstandings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crispycrumblycrust](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crispycrumblycrust/gifts).



It started, predictably, under an avalanche of medical textbooks. John, asleep with his head on a library desk, his hair curled and desperate for a cut. He was burning out trying to catch up with privately tutored family legacy students, trying to prove that he deserved his scholarship. As a lab partner he was incomparable. His drive and knowledge was beyond any of their classmates, but as a study partner he flagged early, tired from his part time job and the long commute from his cheap off-campus room. Henrik usually hid his pity well but the gentleman in him couldn’t let John sleep across a desk when there was a bed just across from the library. And he had such pretty blue eyes that blinked slowly and heavily when he was tired. Henrik could never resist helping him, lending him books, paying for coffees, even when John tried to stop him. He smiled at the sleeping boy, and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

‘John. John wake up.’

‘Mmm—‘

‘Come on, you need to go to bed.’

John frowned himself awake, looking around, as if to see if anyone else was there. He let himself be led away, either too tired or too wrapped in his unfathomable thoughts to speak, abandoning their library books on the desk. The librarians would have tutted if they had been paying attention, but the only one on duty was curled around a mug of coffee reading a newspaper in the foyer. She didn’t even look up at the two young men shuffling across to the door, walking close enough to bump shoulders.

***

The walk to Henrik’s room was blustery, and John hunched up beside Henrik, sheltering from the wind. He was quiet, even when they reached the student halls, and fell into step slightly behind Henrik on the stairs. Henrik’s halls were old and imposing, the smell of unwashed, stressed-out students and weed carrying on the draughts. John always looked out of place here, his shoes scuffed and his hair cut roughly over a sink, curling at his collar, making him look coy and pretty. He stopped close behind Henrik, breathing softly, as Henrik unlocked the door to his room.

‘Watch,’ Henrik murmured, touching John’s arm to move him out of the way of the closing door. John started and looked at him with wide eyes. Henrik felt the air change around him, the atmosphere warping from the comfortable companionship they had in the library to something more tense and close.

‘Uhh—‘ John cast around, pulling at his jacket, and Henrik automatically went to help him out of it. John went limp and let him. The wind outside and the clatter of student life in the building were muffled. Henrik’s room was somehow quiet, despite the sounds outside, like they had slipped into a slightly different reality where it was just the two of them and the heavy air. The light was low, just a lamp that Henrik had flicked on. He had intended on offering tea, pyjamas, his bed, and settling himself on the floor for the night, but John was looking at him through lopsided curls and he was still clutching John’s jacket. He set it down on his desk chair, barely having to move in the small room, cursing himself silently for his inadequacy when it came to this kind of thing - whatever it was. John always made him feel slightly inadequate, like something in him was missing, something warm and human that John his under layers of shyness and propriety. It occurred to Henrik as they stood, watching each other, that they were each trying to emulate the other. Between them there might be a whole person. He let his thoughts chase each other to nothing - something was about to happen, no matter how he would deal with it. John was moving towards him, lifting up onto his tip toes—then moving away. Dropping to his knees, his hands on Henrik’s belt, tugging his trousers open—

‘John—‘ more of a gasp than a word.

‘It’s okay I can do this,’ John seemed to be speaking to himself.

‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m doing what you want me to.’

Henrik tried to speak again but John’s hand palmed him through his underwear and he groaned instead. His groan pitched up, trailing off into a whine, as John’s mouth, scorching hot, suddenly found his cock. Henrik pushed forward, unthinking, and John choked, retched, jerked back.

‘Sorry, sorry—‘ John was panicked, his voice straining through his aching throat. ‘I’m sorry I can do this, I can.’

Henrik pushed his hand into John’s hair, holding his head back. He wanted to say something, to tell John how much he wanted him, but how wrong it was for John to be on his knees on the floor like that but the words stuttered out before they passed his lips and he stopped cursing himself and turned his anger on his childhood psychologist, his boarding school speech therapist, his father - anyone who could have taught him to transform emotions into sentences. He blinked away a lurid, full-colour image of his mother in her coffin and looked back down at John, his hand still clutching at his curls. John was looking up at him, eyes wide, and unnaturally bright, confusion and hurt painted across his face.

‘I thought—you helped me—all that time - the money— I-‘

Henrik felt a sickening lurch in his stomach as he realised what this looked like to John, all those little favours, the casual offer of a bed for the night, the tension.

‘Oh John—‘ he whispered, ‘it’s not like that, I’m not—‘ he dropped down to the floor beside John and took his hands.

‘You don’t have to do anything. We don’t. I thought you knew— I’m not trying to force you into anything. You don’t owe me. I like you, yes, but-‘ he paused, searching for his words, becoming distracted by how small John’s hands felt in his.

John was silent, but he leaned forward to touch their foreheads together. They sat close together on the cold wooden floor for a moment and Henrik could tell John was reassessing. Finally John took in a deep breath and said;

‘Maybe-‘ another breath, ‘-maybe we can still make each other— feel good.’

‘Feel good?’

‘Yeah.’

The pressure on Henrik’s forehead increased as John nuzzled against him.

‘Alright then.’

After that there were no more words that mattered and everything happened all at once. John pushed up against Henrik, kissing at his neck, and they helped each other up and out of their clothes. Henrik was glad of the dim lighting; he felt gaunt and vampiric, his skinny body stretched out and alien, beside John, who glowed with warmth and health, but who was still absurdly shy. 

Henrik pushed John backwards onto the bed, shivering as he felt warm kisses in the hollow of his collarbone. John had never been with another man, and he was curious, running his hands over Henrik’s flat chest. He kept returning to kissing, most comfortable when he knew what he was doing. His hands slid further down but always skittered back up again, scared, but eager.

‘Henrik I—‘ John’s attempt at speaking was cut off with a gasp as Henrik ground his hips down. He distracted John with a hard kiss and shoved his hand roughly between John’s legs. They grasped at each other like teenagers alone together for the first time, John finally becoming bold enough to touch Henrik back, move one hand around his cock, the other twisted round and clinging to the pillows behind his own head. Henrik’s narrow hips snapped as he bucked into John’s hand. It was rushed and desperate and passionate and Henrik watched John’s face as he came very suddenly, crying out and spilling over himself, tears at the corners of his eyes, his hand slackening. Henrik leaned down to kiss him and felt him shudder. He wrapped his hand around John’s, trying to urge him on.

‘Sorry that was—‘ a blush stained John’s cheeks, apparently he had even surprised himself with how quickly he came. He slid down underneath Henrik, wriggling his body down the bed, and pushing Henrik onto his back, only pausing for a moment before taking Henrik gently in his mouth. Henrik sighed luxuriously. This was better, far better than John kneeling on the floor. It was softer, cushioned by his duvet, and John was over him, working him now with his hands and his mouth and Henrik felt himself sinking into that warmth and felt that maybe he never had to talk or struggle to express himself again because John understood his body and he understood John and the rush of his climax rattled through his bones and into his fingers where they gripped tight, twisting into John’s hair.

***

‘Are you going to lie there all night?’

‘Mmmm—‘

Henrik rolled his eyes and threw a towel at the bed. John made vague motions to clean himself up, then chucked the towel on the floor and rolled himself up in Henrik’s sheets. Henrik sat on the edge of the bed and tugging at the nape of John’s neck. John whined in what could have been pleasure or pain.

‘Do you want to talk about it?’ said Henrik. John snored in response. Henrik rolled his eyes again, affectionately - he found he was doing that a lot around John - and lay down beside him, curling his body around him. John felt tiny in his arms. The smell of sex was caught in his hair and Henrik wondered what he would say in the morning, what either of them would say. He wondered what his father would say, what John’s parents would say, what their classmates and professors and the old woman who John rented a room off would say. Then he started wondering what it would feel like to be inside John, to be with him properly, and none of those people mattered. He kissed the top of John’s head and closed his eyes, shutting out everything except John and the wind and the darkness.


	2. The Second Time: Because of Diagrams

Thirteen hours before their final second year exam and John was lying on Henrik’s bed, refusing to pick up another book.

‘I can’t read any more, it’ll push what I already know out of my head!’

Henrik snorted quietly, choosing not to state his disdain at John’s knowledge of the psychology of memory. John was focused on brain surgery - cutting and splicing until he found something that could be fixed. He had never been through therapy or counselling of any kind and could not really understand the need for it. His thesis promoted the idea that surgery was able to fix any deviance in thought to an almost dystopian level. Henrik rolled his eyes and threw a textbook at John’s head.

‘Hey!’ John scowled, but picked up the book from the pillow beside his head and opened it up.

‘Ask me some questions,’ said Henrik, dropping down into his desk chair. John lay back and closed his eyes, cocky and confident as he reeled off questions, quick fire and extended, trying to trip Henrik up. The longer they went on the quicker his questions became, a barrage of words, but Henrik dodged every blow. John mixed up carpals and metacarpals in his rush to construct a question and threw the book back at Henrik in annoyance. He curled up, turning to face the wall. Henrik gave him a few moments before making a slow approach.

‘John—‘ he fluttered his fingers down John’s side, then sat down down on the bed and took his hand. John rolled over and propped himself up against the wall,

‘Look,’ Henrik stroked between John’s fingers and up his arm, gently tapping on the location of every bone under the skin, naming them. John’s breath caught and his eyes followed Henrik’s fingertips as they touched each bone.

‘Scaphoid— trapezium—trapezoid—‘ when he reached the tips of John’s fingers Henrik kissed them lightly until John laughed and swatted him away.

‘Alright, you quiz me.’

***

‘No you’re drawing it wrong—‘ John snatched the pen off Henrik and scrawled over his careful diagram of a set of lungs. Henrik felt a momentary spasm of rage, and almost wanted to hit John, but he controlled himself, breathing through his teeth. John pulled a textbook over, flipping roughly through the pages to find what he was looking for, and Henrik shoved his hand away.

‘Can’t you ruin your own textbooks,’ he sighed. John stiffened beside him. They both knew he had sold this particular textbook to make enough money for his last rent payment.

‘Sorry.’

‘It’s alright. At least I used it whilst I had it.’

John’s words were cruel and Henrik stood up abruptly, grabbing the pen out of his hand. John’s eyes widened as Henrik herded him backwards towards the bed.

‘Take off your shirt.’

John hurried to obey and Henrik approached him, wielding the pen. He sat down hard on John’s legs, trapping him, and splayed his left hand on John’s bare chest, then brought the nib of the pen, the sharp point of ink, and pressed it against John’s skin. With bold, painful strokes he sketched John’s lungs, the pen dipping into the notches between his ribs.

John lay very still, just a tremor whenever Henrik pressed too hard. A whimper when the cold ink touched some tender place. He could feel Henrik’s hands closer with every shaky breath.

‘Kidneys—‘ a quick sketch under the lungs, ‘—large intestine—‘ a snaky line down almost to John’s hips. Then Henrik hesitated, unsure what to draw next. He shuffled further up John’s body, making him moan softly and pressed the pen into John’s hand. Entranced, John gripped the pen and reached up, drawing a wonky heart on Henrik’s chest. Then the pen was lost under sheets and Henrik’s full weight was on him, his mouth on John’s neck.

‘I want you.’ John’s voice was a strangled whisper.

‘You have an exam tomorrow, are you sure you—‘

‘Henrik. Please.’

Henrik scolded himself. John was here, all worked up underneath him and begging to be fucked, like he’d wanted from the moment he met the shy boys electric eyes and saw the ferocity and intelligence in them. He placed his palm on John’s ribs, neatly segregated by pen strokes, and ran up to his unmarked, fluttering heart.

***

When John lifted his hips, letting Henrik push inside him, he swore, a string of incomprehensible words - fuckhenrikpleasefuckyesfuck. When Henrik started to move in him, he whimpered and twisted his hands into the bedsheets. They came together in a push-pull of pelvic bones and tightened muscles and sweat.

John was surprisingly quiet, disarmingly submissive, a mess of smudged ink and bite marks. Henrik was torn between fiery lust and painful tenderness, thrusting hard into John until he sobbed, then dusting light kisses all over his face and chest. This was John’s first time being fucked, which made a possessive growl stir in Henrik’s stomach, but also made John tender and sore, coming first, over Henrik’s clenched fist, his whole body tensing and convulsing. Henrik pulled away, spilling onto John’s thighs, already bruising from the sharpness of Henrik’s hipbones.

***

‘I’m getting ink on your sheets.’

‘Mmm don’t care—‘ Henrik petted John’s hair absently without opening his eyes.

‘Why did you have to draw on me anyway?’

‘Arga katter får rivet skinn - or in this case, ink marks.’ Henrik frowned when John stayed silent and shook himself fully awake. John was gazing at him dreamily.

‘I don’t know what you said but when you speak Swedish it’s— sexy,’ he hid behind his eyelashes, embarrassed about having to use the word, ashamed of seeming common. Henrik smiled, his proper, almost unseen smile.

‘Jag vet.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘arga katter får rivet skinn’ apparently means ‘angry cats get scratched skin’ or something like ‘if you’re mean to people you’ll get hurt too’ which may not be a contextually appropriate saying i don’t know enough about swedish phrases.... ‘jag vet’ means ‘i know’


	3. The Third Time: Because of Roxanna

‘John. John!’

‘Sorry,’ John shook his head and turned to face David, who was holding up two slides, trying to get John to pick one to analyse. He looked over to where John had been staring, at Henrik and Roxanna MacMillian, his lab partner. They were bent over a microscope, heads almost touching.

‘Ah—I see,’ David winked, and John felt his heart freeze, his mind sliding into panic at the idea that he could be so obvious.

‘Roxanna MacMillian,’ David said dreamily, ‘isn’t she beautiful. She’s a girl from a love song alright. Been giving me signals you now, little glances, smiles. I just need an in.’

John felt his breathing return to normal. Of course no-one would suspect the truth. Especially not David, who was infatuated with Roxanna. An idea began to take nebulous shape in John’s head, one that would stop the niggling feelings of jealously that plagued him whenever Henrik smiled as he walked over to join Roxanna at their lab bench.

‘I know Henrik pretty well if you want an in.’ He kept his voice casual, manipulating the situation without appearing to care, busying himself with adjusting the microscope. David was beaming when he looked up again.

‘My friend, I would owe you my life. Just to sit with her—‘ he trailed off, captured again by Roxanna pushing her hair out of her eyes.

***

It didn’t take long to engineer a meeting. They all drank in the same places, John just needed to get Henrik to invite Roxanna without being obvious about it, without making him question why John was suddenly so keen to drink with a woman he had always been cold towards. After that it all happened so naturally he came close to convincing himself that he had manipulated nothing, just set the universe to rights. David was charming, warm, funny, and you wouldn’t have to stand on your tiptoes to kiss him. He and Roxanna tumbled into a relationship, which quickly became a deep and devoted love.

They drank in a bar down a narrow alley, far away from the sterility of hospitals and the right level of upmarket that they all felt comfortable. John watched how Roxanna stretched her legs out over David’s lap, how they touched casually and easily, and felt the press of space between himself and Henrik like a weight against his side, dragging his fingertips to the ground. They always sat like this, David and Rox on the corner bench, cuddling usually, and he and Henrik on bar stools, careful not to let even their elbows touch. Sometimes it was agonising.

They parted at the end of the alley, David and Roxanna, swaying drunkenly against each other, heading to David’s flat, and John and Henrik to the bus stop to catch the night bus back to campus.

‘Damn,’ John rattled through his pockets, ‘no money, I’ll have to run home and get some.’

Henrik stopped walking.

‘That’s ridiculous, he said. ‘We’re minutes away from your room, why don’t we just go there?’

‘I don’t know, I—‘ John’s usual excuse, that his landlady would disapprove, was useless tonight. They both knew that she was visiting her sister.

‘I wish you weren’t ashamed of yourself.’ Henrik’s voice was barely a whisper and John thought he could hear the tug of a Swedish accent underneath. He took Henrik’s hand and led him down the street.

They pawed at each other under the covers, sleepy and soft, still half clothed, coming almost at the same moment. John was proud of that later. He had never wanted to last for someone, sex had always been a means to an obvious end, more mechanical than sensual, but with Henrik he wanted it to go on. He enjoyed the build up, the heat of skin on skin and the crackle of the air between them, and struggled to match up his scientific knowledge of pressure points and erogenous zones with how overwhelming it all was.

Sometimes he tried to trace the beginnings of the endorphins he knew he was producing, to pin-point the moment he started to feel pleasure, but he always gave up, surrendering to the curious blankness of pure feeling. Or perhaps he was just surrendering to Henrik.

***

If there was one thing John could never have predicted it was his friendship with Roxanna. They walked endlessly round the park and drank together when David and Henrik were at society events. It took her just over a month to figure out what was going on, and about a week more to become absolutely exhausted by it all. Every time they got drunk she challenged him, asking why he hadn’t spoken to Henrik about his feelings, why they were pretending this was just casual when the two of them were the least casual people in the world.

‘You don’t understand Rox,’ John said, stopping by the pond and throwing his arms up, ‘you don’t know how hard it is.’

‘Don’t I?’

John opened his mouth to reply, but stopped at Roxanna’s glare.

‘Don’t you think people look at me and David funny, like he’s kidnapped me, or I’m some kind of fallen woman? Maybe it’s not the same, but it’s not easy for him being black and dating me. It’s not easy for me either. My parents don’t talk to him, my friends talk too much. I understand more than you think John. I understand loving someone people think you shouldn’t.’

John blinked back sudden stinging tears and staggered over to a bench, lowering himself onto the wooden slats.

‘I do love him. I think.’

‘I know. Christ, John, you’re just as useless as him. He spent hours in that damn lab talking about how wonderful you are, how clever you were to get a scholarship. It was exhausting.’ She patted John’s hand. He smiled, then frowned again.

‘Rox I— I have to confess something to you,’ he swallowed hard, ‘you remember when I introduced you to David? Well it was— it was because i was jealous of you and Henrik. You just seemed so close and I never saw him and I thought you and him maybe— I don’t know. I’m sorry,’ he finished, with a shrug. Roxanna studied his eyes as if trying to divine a deep truth in them.

‘And here was me thinking it was an act of sheer altruism,’ she said dryly. ‘I forgive you. Not that there’s much to forgive, if you hadn’t introduced us I would probably still be listening to Henrik’s monologue about your entrance essay.’

John’s squeezed her hand, and she leant against him.

‘He really talks about me?’

‘As much as he talks about anything.’

They sat in silence, propping each other up and John relished being the taller one, the stronger one for a change, but the sun soon dipped below the tree-line and they struggled stiffly to their feet to begin the long walk home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day! I’m in fire. I realise that this is less then hooking up and more an excuse for me to write David/Rox but TECHNICALLY they are in bed together briefly so it counts.


	4. The Fourth Time: Because of Pining

John suffered through the summer before their final year. Henrik was back in Sweden, his voice crackly over the phone, his looping penstrokes shaping oddly formal, stilted letters. The day before he had left, after rehearsing with Roxanna, John had attempted to define their relationship, but Henrik had shut him down, his words cold, his arms warm and protective.

‘I can’t be in a relationship right now.’

‘Of course, I completely understand.’

Henrik’s arms had tightened around him. There was coffee on his breath and John felt his sigh before he heard it.

‘I could never be what you need,’ said Henrik. He was quiet now, speaking into John’s hair.

‘You’re what I want,’ said John.

Henrik had no reply other than sighs and kisses, which lasted all night, until the sunrise was creeping through the curtains and they had to snatch a few hours sleep before the airport taxi came. John spent weeks wondering if he should have gone to the airport with Henrik, his thought last leading to no conclusion other than alcohol, misery, and pretending his own hands, touching himself in the darkness, were Henrik’s.

***

John was suffering dramatically, but Henrik was suffering stoically, having polite conversations filled with secret barbs and trip hazards at his father’s house. He thought about John constantly, about his quiet acceptance on that last night. He knew that John was scared to lose him, scared to argue his position, and he promised himself that he would make up for it when, if, he returned to the UK. His father was in the process of writing several complicated conditions into his will and made no secret of the fact that he wanted Henrik to remain in Sweden, marry a nice Swedish girl, and stop spending so much time on the phone to that English boy with the rough accent. John’s voice was always quiet on the phone, his emotions hard to pick out, but his relief that Henrik was phoning him at all reverberated through the telegraph wires and into Henrik’s skull. John wasn’t allowed to call, always had to wait, everything always on Henrik’s terms. Sometimes Henrik wondered how far he could push that.

He lay in his childhood bed, staring at the dusty cornice, hearing his fathers spiteful words, thinking ‘the phone’s nothing, I’ve touched him, I’ve been inside him.’ 

***

‘17.15 arrival from London Heathrow disembarking now.’

John’s head shot up so fast he felt a painful crick in his neck. Somewhere in the sea of power suits, padded shoulders, and briefcases that flowed from business class was Henrik. He stood up and pushed through the crowds to the doors that led through from immigration, entertaining a hundred nightmare scenarios - Henrik denied entry, Henrik back in Sweden having missed his flight, Henrik walking through the doors with a tall blonde model type. As long as he stuck to those imaginings he didn’t have to confront the scenario where Henrik appeared and wanted nothing to do with him. He knew it annoyed Henrik, his dependency, his need for validation. He had cultivated an air of confidence in everything, but was never able to extend that to Henrik’s feelings. John sunk down into himself, turning away from the arrivals gate.

The crowd pushed him around, crushing him down further into his jacket until he thought he might collapse but then, hard, pressing, he felt a hand on the small of his back and suddenly Henrik was all around him, shielding him from the crowds, guiding him towards the main doors. No, not the main doors. A side door, a quiet exit to a deserted bin store. The late afternoon light didn’t have time to blind John before Henrik was blocking it out, towering over him, shoving him against the brick wall and kissing his uncertainties away.

‘Hi.’

Henrik didn’t reply, kissed his neck, his hair, snaking his arms around John’s waist. Then he finally pulled back and surveyed John’s face.

‘Hello John,’ he said.

They stayed there for a moment, reacquainting their bodies, until the door rattled open and they sprung apart, hurrying away together.

***

Less than half an hour after arriving at John’s new apartment, with only a handful of words spoken and John was on the bed on his hands and knees, Henrik gripping his hips, pounding into him. It felt impersonal, like they could be anyone, any two people. John hated not being able to see Henrik’s face, watch the flickering expressions of lust and shock and pleasure. With a grunt Henrik pushed harder and John’s arms collapsed. His face was suddenly full of pillows and he wrapped his arms around them instinctively, getting himself more grounded. Large open hands ran up and down his back and he heard his own name on Henrik’s tongue. Better. Much better in fact, deeper and slower. He wriggled his hips and felt an answering shudder. Smiling smugly into the pillows he pushed backwards. Henrik came half inside him, half over his back, panting, catching his breath, his hands still holding John in place. John felt raw, like his insides had been scraped out, and still so wound up, still clamouring for his release.

The cool tip of Henrik’s tongue was a sudden surprise, and John yelped as it flickered inside him. Henrik’s hand wrapped around him and John shook, helpless under the dual assault. It felt obscenely intimate, any distance between them gone, his voice pitching higher and higher, whimpering into the pillows. His mind twisted with his own inadequacy, trying to understand why Henrik was so focused on his body, so intent on making John feel good. Henrik hummed into him, the slight vibrations warming him all over and his last thought was that for Henrik, who apparently knew everything about pleasure, to be here with him, was close to magic 

***

‘My father asked me not to come back home.’

John yelped again, in horror this time, and Henrik frowned at him. They were under the bedsheets, feet tangled together, Henrik’s arm behind John’s head.

‘You just— how can you say that, with that mouth. Tongue. It’s just—‘

Henrik was looking at him with mild distaste and John hid his face in the bedsheets.

‘Sorry. I’m sorry, that was- are you okay?’ John kissed Henrik’s chest.

‘I suppose. He’s never forgiven me for leaving. I’ve never forgiven him for—‘ he fell silent. John felt the unexpected heat of tears in his eyes.

‘You can tell me anything. There’s nothing about you I don’t want to know,’ John whispered. Henrik adjusted himself, rolling over so he was cradling John in his arms, pushing his face into John’s hair.

‘My mother,’ he started, ‘she didn’t just die. She killed herself. And it’s his fault.’

John stayed as still as possible.

‘He was using—questionable scientific resources. Some—wartime medical research. It was—‘ he swallowed hard, forcing the words back down his throat, ‘I don’t want you to know this John.’

‘You think I’ll think less of you? I don’t care what your father did, I love you. I love you. I love—‘

‘I love you too.’ The words were out in the air before either of them could stop it, hanging in the hot, close space between them.

‘I love you too, John, that’s why I don’t want—I don’t want to taint this with him. With that.’

‘I understand,’ said John. They were silent for a while, then he grinned, laughed, tried to hide it in the pillows, failed, and finally kissed Henrik with smiling lips.

‘You love me. You love me.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s a bit ooc at the end because they actually almost talk about their issues but w/e.


	5. The Fifth Time: Because of Endings

John was hunched over his usual desk in the corner of the library. The place was deserted, everyone away on spring break, and he was so focused on the paper in front of him that he didn’t notice David approaching until he was right beside the desk, slapping a hand on John’s shoulder.

‘What’s up, valedictorian,’ David attempted a curtesy. John smiled tiredly.

‘Still working on the speech. The balance between not sounding too posh to the Americans and not sounding too— like myself to the international students is proving tricky.’

‘Well you know I think you should sound as much like yourself as possible. That working class accent, it could get a girls heart racing. Or a boy.’ David winked. Sometimes John thought he and Roxanna shared too much, but compared to what she shared with David, it was apparently nothing. David had never said outright that he knew about John and Henrik, but he had never commented when they started to sit a little closer together, or when they stumbled drunkenly off together, or even when he caught them coming out of the bathroom, wet-haired and pink-skinned from the shower. He had just complained about the lack of towel.

‘I came to get you out into some fresh air,’ said David.

‘Did Rox put you up to this?’

‘Actually she doesn’t know I’m here.’

That seemed an odd thing for David to say but John let it pass and tidied his papers away. A walk through campus seemed like a good way to get some sort of valedictorian speech together. He was proud of the achievement, even prouder when Roxanna and David insisted on buying him a ridiculous mug that read ‘Worlds Best Doctor’, swiftly followed by a beautifully packaged Montblanc fountain pen which made him tear up with a sudden rush of love for them both. Even Henrik had awkwardly given him flowers. He had been waiting outside the apartment with them, fragile white sprig of gypsophilia wrapped in brown paper, and whisked them away from under John’s nose to put them in a jar almost as soon as they got inside, but he had still given him them, along with a kiss.

***

‘—after that I’ll probably just talk about the school or something. Maybe the statues? I don’t know. I’ll have to find out who they all are first but— David. David!’

‘Sorry John, you were—statues right—‘ David trailed off again. He had been unable to string together a sentence for their whole walk and John stopped in the middle of the deserted path, letting him walk on a few steps before realising he was alone and backtracking.

‘What’s up David?’

David sighed, and John was struck with a sudden worry that something really bad was happening. He watched as David reached into his pocket for something. Something small. A box. A ring—

‘Oh——-‘

‘Yes. I going to ask her. I’m going to ask Rox to marry me.’

When John looked up David was grinning all over his face. John reached out a hand and brushed his fingers over the ring. A single diamond in a slender silver band. Perfect. He looked up at David, then pulled him into an embrace.

‘That’s amazing,’ he said, ‘this is. Jesus, this is big.’

‘Do you think she’ll say yes?’

Somehow, despite years of mutual obsession, despite Roxanna being so blatantly in love with him, David was still scared. John swallowed down his sudden bitterness, trying not to let thoughts of Henrik ruin this.

‘She’ll say yes.’

***

‘You’re hiding something.’

‘What? No I’m not.’ John rolled over so he didn’t have to face Henrik’s piercing, interrogatory eyes. Henrik rolled him back over easily.

‘What are you hiding?’

John scrunched up his face.

‘I can’t tell you.’ He felt the bed shift around him and prepared himself for Henrik’s next tactic. The first kiss landed on his chin, the second and third just below his mouth, then more, falling like rain over his face and neck, always avoiding his lips.

‘It’s a secret.’ He tried to say it firmly but his voice was full of breath and blood was pounding in his ears. Henrik lifted up onto his elbows, hanging over John, and kissed his mouth sweetly.

‘David,’ murmured John. Henrik pulled back sharply, frowning.

‘What?’

‘He’s going to propose to Rox. Soon. He showed me the ring—‘ Henrik caught his mouth with another kiss, possessive, bearing down on him ‘—mmph, you thought I was thinking about him there didn’t you?’

John was only teasing but Henrik rolled off of him and flopped down on the bed, sulking. He was jealous, even at the idea of John wanting someone else. That felt better than being told he was valedictorian. John cuddled up to him, tucking under his arm, and Henrik’s hand found its way into his pyjamas, curling around his hipbone.

***

David and Roxanna’s engagement opened a levee of sudden responsibility and adulthood. Even Henrik’s stoic, absurdly aged manner, was disturbed by the prospect of being a real doctor in only a few weeks. John was comparatively calm having been headhunted for a small Washington D.C hospital with a brand new neurosurgery unit. The director of the unit had read his paper on potential new uses of electro-shock therapy and written to him to say that his ideas were incompatible with their ethical stance but the science behind them was fascinating and would he like to apply his skills to something with medical potential. Ever since he had accepted the position he had set himself the task of scouring every other hospital in the city looking for a position for Henrik.

The four of them spent more time than ever together, keenly aware of their inevitable split. Roxanna and David were heading off to travel and planned to settle in London and marry at Roxanna’s parents house in the Cotswolds. John had never been to the Cotswolds and listened rapturously as Roxanna described her country childhood, all hay bales and foxgloves.

Soon their seats in the pub would be filled by different students, their emptying apartments with strangers possessions, their old beds with new lovers. Henrik nursed his secret, his acceptance to study further at the Royal College in London, sharing it with no-one, treasuring John’s easy smiles while he could. Of course it all fell apart too quickly.

***

‘How could you not tell me? I’ve been calling Washington State every three days asking about jobs.’

‘John—‘

‘London? The other side of the world!’

‘It’s not really the other—‘ Henrik bit back his words as John glared at him. The letter lay on the kitchen table between them.

‘This isn’t how I wanted you to find out, John. I wanted to tell you myself but— you’ve been so happy. We’ve been happy, properly, for the first time and— I didn’t want to hurt you. But my visa— I couldn’t stay if I wanted to.’

‘So you don’t want to stay?’ John’s voice was poison, and Henrik sighed and sat down at the table, dropping his head into his hands.

‘That’s not what I meant,’ he said.

‘It’s what you said.’ John was sitting on the kitchen counter, deliberately antagonising Henrik who had cleaned it that morning. They had been arguing for hours. The sun had set and was threatening to rise again, and John had passed through tears, yelling, more tears, pleading, begging, and landed on viciousness.

‘It’s an incredible opportunity,’ was all Henrik could say.

‘It’s a school. Don’t you want to be a real doctor, get some real blood on your hands?’

Henrik frowned at John’s choice of words but kept his head down.

‘It’s only a year. Who knows what will happen after that?’

‘I do. I know exactly what’ll happen. What was always going to happen. You’ll get a job in some London hospital, you’ve never really fitted in here, you’re more english than the english, and you’ll meet some nice girl from the Home Counties and spend six months getting the guts to ask her out and then you’ll get married and have tall clever children who never get muddy or cry and they’ll go to private school and then to Cambridge, and you’ll be so proud of them and you’ll sit in your Chelsea townhouse or your Hertfordshire fucking country cottage and your wife will ask you what you’re thinking about and you’ll say that you’re just wondering whatever happened to that pathetic little queer you knew in the states who let you fuck him for a few years because he was so desperate for you but then you realised that you were too good for him and you left him behind. He loved you and you left—‘

There was no end to that sentence; it was lost in the clatter of Henrik standing so forcefully his chair fell backwards and the table scraped across the floor. He was in front of John before he had time to think about it. John was crying again, silently this time, his breath hiccuping like a child whose parents have stopped responding to its pain. Henrik stepped between John’s legs and pulled his shaking body close, almost lifting him from the counter to get closer to him. He hid his face in John’s neck, feeling tears sting at his own eyes.

‘I don’t want to leave you, John. I really don’t— it’s not fair.’ Henrik was so tired and lost that, despite the agony of the moment, John carefully stored the feeling of Henrik, vulnerable against him. He was sure it would never happen again, that when Henrik inevitably straightened up, brushed down his shirt, and walked away, his resolve would be even stiffer. But just for now he let himself be cradled, his arms and legs wrapped around Henrik body, holding him so tight it hurt.

It lasted only a little longer than John had expected. Henrik cleared his throat, eyes suddenly dry and soft, and leaned back to look down at him. His hands rested on John’s thighs and, with John on the counter, he was still a head taller, blocking out the kitchen light. John felt the familiar ache of lust in his groin.

‘I thought you loved me,’ he said, injecting all the pain of loss, the anger at Henrik’s resignation to it, the bitterness of their stolen future, into his words. Henrik leaned down and touched their foreheads together.

‘I do love you. But love isn’t enough to change what’s going to happen. I’m so tired John.’ Henrik sounded too young to be so weary, his voice high and wavering. It felt like the end. There was still tension, still anger, but more than that, John felt like the last few grains of the sand-timer were slowly slipping through. He took a deep breath and lifted his head, meeting Henrik’s mouth in a stinging salty kiss.

‘I know,’ he said, ‘let me.’

***

John worked Henrik’s cock through his trousers with gentle hands, easing him into a state of arousal. He undressed slowly, feeling Henrik’s heavy eyes on him. He had always known that Henrik was physically attracted to him, had always suspected that a lot of their relationship came down to the way he looked, the way he responded to Henrik’s touch, how willing he was to let Henrik dominate him. He didn’t mind really, it was a rush knowing that he could spark something so chaotically primitive in that ordered mind.

John eased Henrik back against the bed-head, running his fingertips up and down his spine, over the notches of his vertebrae, then kissed his collar bones, helping him shed the last of his clothes. He noted the feverish rush of Henrik’s hands, reaching for the bedside cabinet, and hushed him gently, taking control for the first time. John pulled back, leaving Henrik and began to work himself open. He watched Henrik watching him. He was putting on a show, letting out a quiet gasp as he pushed down onto his own fingers, relishing the slightly sleazy smile on Henrik’s face.

At the start it had seemed like every time they were together they found new ways to make each other moan. It had been exciting, a scientific exploration of erogenous zones, but now that had given way to a relaxed confidence that was even better. John eased himself down, guiding Henrik into him with one hand, and ground his hips in the way he knew Henrik liked. This position was hard work for John but it was worth it to watch the pleasure wash over Henrik, to know that he was using his own body to pull those low throaty noises out of him. He threw his head back, slamming down hard, unable to stop the whimper that meant Henrik was fully inside him. They built a rhythm, moving together, Henrik lifting up to meet him.

There would be hatred and spite, answer phone messages and letters filled with vitriol, new lovers seduced and discarded for their uncanny similarity, their stark difference. There would be endless tears. There might be secret, blissful reunions in faraway countries, stolen moments at medical conferences and weddings and birthdays, cold lonely mornings in hotel rooms as the airport taxi pulls away. Or there might just be knowing looks and soft smiles. Hugs that linger and kisses pressed surreptitiously to sensibly cut hair. Neither of them knew, or particularly cared just now. The next day, the next year, the next lifetime could wait. They had each other, they had these last few grains of sand, these last touches and sighs and kisses, easing each other down from their climax, hands committing each other to memory, just in case.

***

Sleep drifted over them slowly, taking John first, then Henrik moments later. They were so entwined under the sheets that their bones could be one pale and twisted skeleton, their bodies a cryptic tangle of hot breath and soft curls. When one moved, the other shifted around them, unconsciously accommodating each other, in synch with themselves and nothing else. The world stirred outside, rousing itself, but they slept on, the hour-glass slowing almost to a stop as the sun flushed pink over the horizon and the soft haze of morning mist settled on the grass outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah okay there’ll be an epilogue


	6. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A happy ending in all ways.

John was pacing. David was sitting on a decorative chair, watching him, concern in his eyes.

‘What you wrote is fine, John.’

‘I know. I’m not thinking about the speech,’ John’s tone was defensive. David rolled his eyes.

‘Right, sorry, you’re not thinking about the speech, or what you’re wearing, or what Henrik might—‘

‘I’m not thinking about Henrik.’

***

John was thinking about Henrik. He spent the whole ceremony forcing himself not to turn round and search for him in the crowd. He knew from Roxanna’s excited update that Henrik was here alone, that he had turned down the offer of a plus one, and that he was staying at the same hotel as them all, flying up from London for the day and heading back the following morning. He should have been with them, really. The four of them, together again, but he had been so distant since graduation, so far away. John suspected that David and Roxanna had chosen her parents home for their wedding because it was closer to Henrik. He still nursed a secret turmoil of guilt and anger inside him over the way they had all parted, the way he and Henrik had parted. That last night, on the floor, surrounded by Henrik’s boxes, he had surrendered himself, baring his neck for Henrik’s teeth, his heart to Henrik’s abandonment.

When they met, John finally released from uncomfortably posing in wedding pictures, hands brushing over champagne flutes, John had to fight the urge to surrender all over again.

***

‘John.’

‘H-Henrik.’

John cursed himself for stuttering, but Henrik looked absurdly handsome, his hair pushed back from his face, tieless with his shirt collar pulled open. He steeled himself.

‘I noticed you didn’t have a plus one. I suppose you’re expecting me to let you in,’ he said. Henrik quirked an eyebrow, infuriatingly amused at John’s confidence. All through the reception they had been polite to each other, chatting about work and research under Roxanna’s barely concealed glances. She spent almost as much time watching them, flashing encouraging grins, as she did dancing with David. Now, driven by some insane confidence to Henrik’s bedroom door, John cursed the whole romantic night.

***

If Henrik was a cruel man, seeing John stammering and stuttering on his doorstep would be a source of vindication for the months of anguish and guilt the man had caused him. The image of John wrapped in a nest of blankets, pale and bruised in the cold morning light, haunted him. But he had never been cruel, only gently, lovingly mocking of his friend. So he stepped aside permitting John to enter, watching him set down the wine bottle he had brought on the bedside table.

‘I enjoyed your speech. Very amusing, especially the part about how they met.’

John had the decency to blush at Henrik’s pointed remark. He had glossed over his own involvement in David and Roxanna’s relationship in favour of lightly doctored anecdotes from their nights out together.

‘I hoped you would,’ he replied, then paused. ‘I hoped you would come. I wanted you to hear it. To remember with us.’

Henrik smiled, involuntarily. John’s nervous energy always made him relaxed, his tension easing Henrik like a massage.

‘I’m glad I came. They look— unimaginably happy.’

‘Unimaginably.’

They watched other. Henrik’s eyes swept over John’s fitted suit, his squint bow tie, imagining the strong, compact body underneath it. He stepped forward, his hands came to rest on John’s shoulders, John stood frozen, letting Henrik adjust his bow tie, smooth down the arms of his jacket. Henrik remembered the first time, John scruffy in his worn through winter coat, hair curling prettily at his collar. He touched that hair now, cropped severely short. Despite his hard exterior, John was still as malleable under Henrik’s hands as he had been as a young, nervous student.

Henrik was not a cruel man, and he could see that his closeness, his touches, were hurting John. He decided to put the man out of his misery, and leaned down to kiss him.

***

Henrik fucked John with his fingers, watching, fascinated, as he writhed, pushing himself down, desperate for more. John bloomed under him, his eyes dark and wide, waves of tension and softness rippling through his body, his hips arching off the bed. The years apart had shaped John into a man, filling the hollows in his body with tight muscles. Henrik was aware all over again of his own physical inadequacies; his stretched out limbs and pallid skin. John didn’t seem to mind, pressing heated kisses to every part of Henrik’s body he could reach. Henrik pushed into him, lifting him up off the bed, holding him against his chest, feeling John’s legs wrap around his waist.

***

‘Henrik,’ Roxanna hugged him tight, pressing a kiss to his cheek. The four of them were at the airport, delaying Henrik from boarding his plane. They were all aware that this was the last time they would see each other for a long time. Life seemed to be made up of goodbyes.

David and Rox left first, the excitement for their honeymoon overflowing into John and Henrik, who stood watching them leave with smiles on their faces. The final announcement for Henrik’s flight interrupted them before they could start speaking. After a slight pause Henrik stepped forward, John meeting him halfway, raising up onto his tiptoes. The crowds parted around them as they kissed, and when they pulled apart John was blushing. Henrik squeezed his hand twice and they parted still smiling.

**Author's Note:**

> Look who’s back on the John/Henrik shit again - please please please comment or something if you read we’re trying to sustain a ship here lads.  
> Also each chapter will be another time the awkward cryptid boys get it on.


End file.
